The Druid Who Lived
by SideshowStarlet
Summary: What if Rose Potter of the famous badfic "The Girl Who Lived" had been a boy named Harry? All the laughs of the original fic with a Y chromosome! Contains superpowers, axe-crazy protagonists, constant hints and denials of homosexuality, and naked druids. Grammar is fixed, and plagiarism has been replaced with random rants. Like no parody you've ever read before!


**The Druid Who Lived **

**What if Rose Potter from the famous badfic "The Girl Who Lived" had been a boy? All the superpowers, furious denial of homosexuality, and smugness, along with a Y chromosome! Random rants replace the plagiarism, and grammar was corrected. Humor was injected into a fic, which, in my opinion, badly needed it. **

**Much as I may mock this fic, I also enjoy mocking the usual logic of people who mock this fic, if that makes sense. For example: that whole bullying thing; readers shouldn't be surprised that Rose/Harry turned into a bully. I mean, she was bullied all this time by Dudley, while all the authority figures either ignored it or actively encouraged it. Then along comes a Sensei who teaches her/him how to fight… people shouldn't vilify a child who's been bullied for wanting to get revenge in the only way which was open to them. I'm not exactly condoning Rose/Harry, but seriously, you can't blame them for being a little screwed up. **

**I am mad that the original "Girl Who Lived" author thinks that Rose is not a flawed human being for this (which would have been smarter to do in the first place because a flawed character is gonna be better than one that's perfect). Just because it's natural doesn't make it right. Later in the fic, I'll get into all those people who make fun of Rose for being a lesbian. Even if that's true, that seems like the least of her problems. And don't use lesbian/gay as an insult!) However, this will not stop me from mocking the blatant sexualization of children which appears on _practically every page_ of the original fic. So, it's an equal-opportunity snark. **

**If anyone's offended by my blatant mockery of everything to do with "The Girl Who Lived," feel free to mock my fics. The only catch is that the snark must be better-written than the original.**

**Chapter 1 **

Ten years ago, according to neighborhood legend _(which could not always be trusted, as it was often fueled by my famously gossipy Aunt Petunia… of course, if she gained that reputation through neighborhood legend, there's at least a slight chance that she herself, or someone equally as gossipy, provided the original story of "Petunia Dursley: Gossipmonger," in which case there's only a slim chance that Aunt Petunia's description as "gossipy" can actually be trusted. There may be a chance, however unlikely, that Aunt Petunia is not as gossipy as I originally believed. Given the unreliability of neighborhood legend, Petunia may in fact be as honest as the day is long. However, given that Aunt Petunia is often the supplier of stories that are scandalous enough to become part of the famously unreliable neighborhood legend, this would mean that Aunt Petunia has been supplying the tall tales the gossipy hens seemed to thrive upon, like a drug dealer supplying meth to an addict. Needless to say, this throws Aunt Petunia's honesty even further into doubt, but I digress.), _I was found on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive by Aunt Petunia as she opened the door to pick up the milk bottles. Her scream woke half the neighborhood. 

"Send him to an orphanage," was the advice of most of the neighbors, along with Petunia's husband Vernon.

"Belch!" baby Dudley had contributed.

"I think Dudley's agreeing with me, Pet," Vernon had pointed out helpfully.

Nobody could quite work out why on Earth the Dursleys decided to keep me, seeing as how I was "nothing but trouble." Some say for tax deductions. Some say because having the hooligan child of her sister around the house fostered Aunt Petunia's already apparent sense of superiority, a plan which backfired when it became obvious that I had grown into such a smug little dick. Their words, not mine. Yet for whatever reason, I was still there, lying in the cot in my cupboard with my eyes closed.

I wasn't asleep. I was just thinking about how boring, predictable, and unchanging Privet Drive was. I'm willing to bet the place looked the same ten years ago, when I was dropped off at this dump, as it does today. Well, maybe the pictures on the mantel are a little different. Like instead of that one with a fat boy riding a carousel at the fair, there'd be one of a fat baby wearing a blue bonnet. And instead of the one with the fat boy playing a computer game with his morbidly obese father, there'd be a picture of a fat baby wearing a yellow bonnet. And instead of the one with a fat boy riding his first tricycle, there'd be one of a fat baby wearing a white bonnet. Are you starting to see the pattern? Of course, in either time frame, there's no pictures of _me, _Harry Potter, on that mantel, so who cares? Who wants to look at a mantel full of fat people pictures anyway?

Ooohhh… that reminds me of that girl from "Lilo and Stitch" who took all those pictures of overweight tourists eating ice cream! What's up with that? I mean, really…

"Up! Get up! Now!"

I jumped. I had well-trained Ninja senses thanks to the fact that one of my primary school teachers was a Sensei and had been giving me private lessons because it's a different era and you can get away with that kind of shit within the timeframe of this story, while you cannot pull that nonsense now. Well, I did just reference Lilo and Stitch. That's kind of recent. You probably can't get away with that stuff during this timeframe either.

Wonder how my Sensei managed to avoid those rules? I guess being well-versed in Martial Arts means you don't have to follow a bunch of stupid regulations that the politicians put out. This guy is seriously my hero!

Still, Aunt Petunia remains the only person who can sneak past me without alerting my Ninja senses or whatever the Hell they're called. I was paying more attention to the practical bits of Martial Arts (like how to attack somebody). I'll be the first to admit that I'm a little rusty on theory. My ninja-resistant aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched, her loud voice negating any benefit of surprise she might have had over any Ninjas within fifty kilometers. I heard her walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker. It would require just _that _much effort to turn it on, but Aunt Petunia, exhausted from turning on Uncle Vernon all night, just couldn't manage. _Zing!_

I rolled onto my back and tried to block out the disturbing mental image of the ninja-resistant Petunia doing the same.

Speak of the Devil. The Bony-Bellied Strumpet was back. "Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Ngk," I replied, disturbing images of her asking Vernon the same question approximately nine hours ago popping into my head. Maybe the school psychologist was right about me.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the sausage..."

I gagged.

"No, sorry. My mistake," the ninja-resistant one said apologetically. "We're having bacon for breakfast." Despite what was _obviously _a Freudian slip, Aunt Petunia quickly regained her snappish manner. "And don't you dare let it burn. I want everything perfect for Duddy's birthday."

Well, in that case, I guess it's lucky she has the rare talent of sneaking up on Ninjas. She could ward off many an assassination attempt targeted at her detestable son. With me providing the labor and Uncle Vernon providing the funds for the pig's mountain of presents, Dinky Dicky was sure to have a perfect birthday. It's all about teamwork, people!

I hurriedly got dressed and gazed at myself in a cracked mirror that somehow wound up in my cupboard, more to waste time than out of a desire to see what I actually looked like.

I had a thin face, knobbly knees, untidy, black hair, and bright green eyes. The only thing I liked about my own appearance was a very thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, on the right side of my forehead.

I had had it as long as I could remember and the first question I could ever remember asking my Aunt Petunia was how I had got it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. It's funny. The Dursley's philosophy on life reminded me of that educational fighting movie that my Sensei had once shown me. I don't remember the name of it, but I do remember that there was a lot of fighting, so much fighting in fact, that the main character started some sort of club for the sole purpose of fighting other people.

Anyway, I remember later on in the movie, they formed some sort of anarchistic cult called Project Mayhem. What really spoke to me about this organization were the first two rules. "The first rule of Project Mayhem is that you do not ask questions. The second rule of Project Mayhem is that you do not ask questions."

The upshot of it all is that the order-obsessed Dursleys have the same philosophy on life as a group of hooligans dedicating themselves to the destruction of civilized society. Also, a teacher who was already arranging private lessons with me, teaching me things which, if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, only exacerbated the bullying problem he was trying to stop (admittedly with a different culprit), and now was showing me an R-rated movie, all with _absolutely no repercussions. _Ninjas fuckin' rule! Well… as long as they don't have to live in the same house as Aunt Tuna, anyway.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as I was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that I needed a haircut. I must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in my class put together, but it made no difference. My hair simply grew that way: all over the place. One of these days, Uncle Vernon's gonna unleash his inner Tyler Durden and convince me to shave my head as part of his cult. He'll be so strong, charming, and charismatic- the complete opposite of Uncle Vernon- that I would readily agree. Until that fic comes, I will continue to not give a flying fuck about what my hair looks like.

I was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. The sight of both Ninja-Resistant Petunia and the innocent eggs in the kitchen made me pity those poor, innocent eggs that had the misfortune to reside within my aunt, only to be fertilized by Vernon's pathetic sperm and come out almost a year later. Like Dudley, these eggs would be unfortunate enough to resemble Uncle Vernon. I suppose it could be worse. Dudley could be a girl and look a lot like Uncle Vernon. Although if the ability to sneak past a Ninja's super-senses was an X-linked recessive trait, maybe being a Dursley daughter wouldn't be so bad after all. Of course, if Vernon and Petunia still plan on naming their spawn "Dudley," maybe being a girl wouldn't have been worth it after all, Ninja-resistance or not.

I put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell. Yeah, right. I _wish. _He simply furrowed his brow and stuck out his bottom lip, ready to fake-cry if need be.

"Thirty six," he said, looking at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year." Oh, my Creator. Dudley's memory is clearly better than I've given it credit for. I wonder if his tiny brain is capable of remembering _other _stuff that happened last year, too. God, I hope he doesn't remember The Noodle Incident. Bah! Who cares what he remembers? I'm a Ninja! I can fight him off! Maybe I can give him a hard hit to the head, and he will no longer be able to remember farther back than a month. That will certainly save Fat-Man and the Tuna a lot of money on holiday shopping. Maybe I could make that sort of thing a habit and bonk other people's kids in the head. It would certainly bring more joy to the Christmas season as parents wouldn't be caught in an endless loop of trying to outdo themselves by making each holiday season bigger and better than the last. If none of their kids can remember anything past a few weeks, it would force families to focus on the present, on the time they have together.

Jesus. I wonder if I'm actually the Son of God and that is my purpose here on Earth- to restore the true meaning of Christmas. God, I hope so. That would mean I'm just a couple million Ninja strikes away from leaving this dump for good and go straight to Heaven. When that happens, I wonder if I'll be beamed up from a ray of light shining through the clouds or if I'll be crucified like my big brother was. Pshaw, no, that bonking kids on the head thing was a great idea! Who would want me dead over that? Angry health insurance companies? I don't think they'd be losing any money off me. I highly doubt there are very many policies that cover "Surprise Ninja Attack."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, its here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. I could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, so in precaution began wolfing down my bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. I am so great at strategizing. My side is so winning the Armageddon that is foretold in the Book of Revelations. Actually, at this point, I'm not sure which side I want to be on. All I know is whichever side has me is so winning.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, because she said quickly: "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin?" Now "Popkin" definitely sounds like a nickname for a girl. All of Aunt Petunia's other disgustingly cute nicknames for Dudley are fairly androgynous, but "Popkin" definitely sounds girly to me. Ah, well. It's not me who's being emasculated.

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. But then again, can thinking actually be considered "work?" Most people don't get paid to think. But what about people who do get paid to think? What is "work" for them?

Finally he said slowly: "So I'll have thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh," said Dudley and sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair. Ha, now Dudley's hair was almost as untidy as mine.

At that moment the telephone rang. Aunt Petunia went to answer it (effectively sneaking past any Ninjas who might have been concealing themselves between the kitchen and the dining room) while Uncle Vernon and I watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games, and a video recorder. That must have been a heck of a long phone call. I mean how long does it take to tell somebody that you broke your leg and cannot provide free babysitting? Er… not that I would know anything about broken legs or neighbors who have broken legs. Dudley was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia finally came back from the telephone, looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in my direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, which was always a good sign. Well… unless you were a fly that happened to be nearby that now found itself being sucked into Dudley's gaping mouth like a renegade spaceship being drawn into a black hole. Or if you were a human being who happened to be standing close enough to catch a whiff of Dudley's ever-present halitosis. You know what? It's probably better for all concerned if Dudley just keeps his mouth shut. Try to be horrified within yourself; can you do that, Dudley? No, of course not. God, you suck.

Every year on Dudley's birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year, I was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. I hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made me look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at me as though I'd planned this. What an outrageous accusation!

I knew I ought to feel sorry that poor Mrs Figg had accidentally broken her leg (in a tragic turn of events that had _nothing to do with me)_, but I didn't. So sue me. I'm at least decent enough not to offer you an excuse, but I'm still not nice enough to feel any kind of remorse for the batty old lady who sustained a non-life-threatening injury. Think about it, if my plan to save Christmas works out, I'll be inflicting much worse injuries with my own hands. That should put things into perspective for any of you bleeding hearts who actually care about Crazy Cat Lady.

"You could just leave me here," I said hopefully, wishing to get a head start on my plan for the greater good. Bwahahahahahahaha! Bet those Dursleys will be sorry they never gave me any presents! Er… I mean, bet those Dursleys will be much more content with their holiday season since they'll appreciate what they _do _have rather than spend all their time and money scrambling for things they _don't _have.

Aunt Petunia looked like she just swallowed a lemon, except without the gagging, thank God. As you might have noticed, I'm still a little traumatized since I learned where baby mammals, like humans and Dudley the mini-whale really came from. The thought of Petunia and Vernon together… _think about Ninjas, think about Ninjas, think about Ninjas…_

"And come back to find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," I replied, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "and leave him in the car."

"The car's new, he's not sitting in there alone," replied Vernon.

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying, it had been years since he'd really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"I…don't…want…him…t-t-to come!" yelled Dudley between huge pretend sobs. "He always spoils everything!" He shot me a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

I merely placed my small fist on the table and cracked my knuckles threateningly while glaring at Dudley. I may be an asshole now, but believe it or not, I was genuinely the innocent victim of Dudley's bullying at one point. Yeah, I know, me… innocent. Then, one of my primary school Senseis (illegally) took me under his wing, and I've been a badass ever since. I wasn't going to take crap from anybody.

Just then, the doorbell rang – "Oh, Good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. I had found myself in that position as well once, a nice rear snap kick to Piers' groin had got me out of that one, and the rat boy had walked awkwardly for a week. LOL, you gotta admit that's awesome, even if you're one of those wimpy "pacifists." Dudley stopped crying at once, which was less awesome (even if he was only pretending to cry in the first place. Still, Dudley gets most of his presents because of his ability to fake cry and shares the wealth with his best friend Piers. If Piers could handle playing with the fruits of Dudley's labors, he could certainly handle the work that went into earning them, couldn't he? God, Piers is such a mob wife- doesn't want to get her hands dirty, but is happy to wear the mink that "Fell off the back of a truck.")

Half an hour later I couldn't believe my luck. I was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo. In case you couldn't tell, I was being sarcastic. I mean, the zoo? Really? Will we be watching Blue's Clues videos in the car on the way? How babyish could you get?

My aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with me, but before we left, Uncle Vernon had taken me aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to mine, "I'm warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas." I couldn't let that happen! My plan to save Christmas must be set into motion! Maybe Vernon was onto me? That would just be the cherry on top of the dog-shit sundae, wouldn't it? First Aunt Petunia having the ability to sneak past my Ninja senses, and now Uncle Vernon turning out to not be as oblivious as he appeared…

My jaw clenched in anger. All it would take would be one flat palm strike to Uncle Vernon's nose and he would be booking time at the Plastic surgeon. But I forced myself to calm down. My time will come. Until then, it would not do to beat the crap out of any authority figures, as much as they may deserve it.

"I'm not going to do anything," I said, "honestly…"

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe me. No one ever did, except my Sensei. But my Sensei's always saying weird stuff. My stories, no matter how insane-sounding, are quite tame compared to his. For instance, he says that my strength is comparable to that of three men in their prime. If that was true, I would be able to forgo my usual "play nice with authority figures" thing and take my chances as a fugitive from society. I could live out in the woods and run around naked, knowing I am so much better than everyone else. Dare to dream, Harry, dare to dream.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. I considered putting Operation Save Christmas into action, but decided against it as there were too many witnesses.

The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice-creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van (who looked like my Sensei in a wig that was put on backwards) asked me what I wanted (in a high-pitched, falsetto voice) before my aunt and uncle could hurry me away, Vernon bought me a cheap lemon ice lolly. It wasn't bad either, I thought, licking it while trying desperately to not think of my aunt and uncle's sex life. _Think about Ninjas,_ I scolded myself. _Ninja, Ninja, Ninja. _

That was the best morning I'd had in a long time. I was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that nobody would realize that I'm related to these buffoons. We ate in the zoo restaurant and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory wasn't big enough, Uncle Vernon bought him another one, and I was allowed to finish the first.

I felt, afterwards, that I should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch we went to the reptile house, because Dudley gazing in awe at a giant snake was on Dudley's bucket list. Dudley had started writing a bucket list ever since I ousted him as the biggest bully on the playground. It was badly misspelled and written in purple crayon, but it was a bucket list nonetheless. Yeah, the teachers at our school are pretty useless.

It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Predictably, Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. For a second, all of my travel companions stared at its girth, its power, its beauty, completely enthralled. _Ninja, think about Ninjas._

After a while, Dudley began to grow bored with staring at a sleeping snake. I don't see why. No work was required of him, and it was only a short walk to all the food he could eat. It was just like watching television.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"This is boring," moaned Dudley and shuffled away.

I moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. I wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself – no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake me up- at least I got to visit the rest of the house. No, scratch that. The snake totally had it better. As sneaky as Petunia is, I doubt she has the ability to sneak up on dangerous Boa Constrictors. Although, I might need to test that…

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with mine.

It winked.

I stared in astonishment. Was a giant snake _flirting with me?_ I looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. No one was. I looked back at the snake and winked too. It was a brotherly kind of wink, though. I'm not gay or anything. I've thought about it, of course, but only in an attempt to wile away long hours in a dark, lonely cupboard. That doesn't mean anything!

The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, and then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave me a look that said quite plainly: "_I get that all the time_."

"I know," I murmured through the glass, though I wasn't sure the snake could hear me. "It must be really annoying. It's like, people, if you want a giant snake, you gotta be able to bend over and take it. You know what I'm saying?"

The snake looked confused, inasmuch as a reptile can express confusion.

"Where do you come from anyway?" I asked, quickly changing the subject. Not that I thought the snake was going to make me an appointment to see the school psychologist. Still, you can't be too careful. The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. I peered at it.

_Boa Constrictor, Brazil_.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and I read on: _This specimen was bred in the zoo._

"Oh, I see – so you've never been to Brazil?" As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind me made us both jump. "DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WONT BELIVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling towards us as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching me in the ribs, the adrenaline from his short walk apparently causing him to forget that I could grind him into raw hamburger. Caught by surprise, I fell backwards and stuck my right leg behind my left and let the momentum carry me in a backwards roll. I had practiced this move so often with my Sensei that I could do it in my sleep. I was on my feet a moment later, consumed by rage. This was my default emotional state, which caused me to think that things had pretty much gone back to normal, except for the fact that I had a revenge to plan, along with my preparation for the holidays- _sigh_, I am so overworked.

However, things were far from normal. At that moment, I felt something inside me reach out. What came next happened so fast, no one saw how it happened, except for me.

One second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up against the glass; the next, they had fallen into the snake's tank. I gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. Ignoring Dudley and Piers, the great snake uncoiled itself, becoming straight and erect (_Ninja, Ninja, Ninja)_, and slithered out of its tank. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past me, I heard that in a low hissing voice the snake said, "Brazil, here I come … thankssss senoirita…"

As soon as the Boa Constrictor safely escaped the enclosure, the glass in front of the tank reappeared. Replacing the badass snake were two crying boys. The situation finally caught up with me, and I could not stop the wide malicious grin from spreading across my face. Dammit, I have to work on my facial expression if I'm ever gonna be able to fulfill my lifelong dream of murdering my relatives in cold blood and then gaining sympathy from strangers due to my incredible performance as the grieving family member.

Uncle Vernon of all people noticed my evil grin before I could change it to a look of wide-eyed puzzlement. When we were back in Number four, he waited until Piers had left the house before starting in on me. Once again, Piers is such a mob wife. Part of the reason, I was sure, that Dudley received so many presents from his parents was because they wanted to impress upon me the superiority of their own son. So they gave Dudley everything while giving me nothing. Once again, if Piers could share in the rewards, he might as well share in the work. Oh, who am I kidding? I just want to kick him in the balls again.

Uncle Vernon was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go – cupboard – stay – no meals," before he collapsed into a chair and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy. Alcoholism tears families apart.

What time is it? Time for me to get a watch! No, seriously, I'm stuck in my cupboard again, and I have no way of knowing how much time has passed. My internal clock says that _at least _fifty-seven years had passed since Vernon had locked me in my cupboard, and that my aunt and uncle had died of old age and heart disease, respectively. But I can't really go by that. I need a more accurate measurement of how much time has gone by so I know when I can sneak to the kitchen for some food. You'd think it would be easier for me to sneak food from the kitchen while I am allowed out and hoard it in my cupboard for those long punishments. But, the school psychologist says I'm a Narcissistic Sociopath with histrionic episodes, complicated by delusions. And I have ADHD. I can't be expected to think of everything, dammit! Sometimes, through no fault of my own (of course), things slip through the cracks.

For instance, I never noticed until today that Aunt Petunia could always sneak up on me. I wonder if this shrewd, shrewish shrew is Ninja-proof in other ways. It wouldn't do to find this out halfway through a physical altercation with my evil aunt. Her powers must be discovered… and neutralized.

And then there's my uncle. He's clearly not as oblivious as I had originally thought/hoped. Vernon may have a better idea of what's going on than any of us have ever given him credit for.

But most shocking of all is something I had never considered until this very moment. I had no friends. Back in the good old bad days when Dudley bullied me, I always assumed the reason other kids avoided me like the plague was because they were afraid of retaliation by Dudley's gang.

However, now that I'm the big badass, kids still don't want to be friends with me. Jealousy I always thought. But what if my friendless state wasn't the other children's fault at all?

What if it was a conspiracy by my evil Ninja-resistant aunt and her bumbling, smarter-than-he-looked husband? They're somehow sneaking into the school and roughing up any kid they suspect wants to become friends with me. Think of all the millions of children they've injured, maybe even killed, over the years, all to keep me properly downtrodden and lonely. It's a conspiracy, I tell you! But now, I'm on to them. And they will _pay_.

Just as soon as they let me out of this cupboard.


End file.
